


after the foxes have known our taste.

by lukioo



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Character Death, Dying together, Graphic Description of Corpses, Inspired by a Hozier Song, M/M, Only hozier could make dying in the woods with your lover sound so good, Song: In A Week (Hozier), flowers and plants growing out of corpses, very strange writing style I tried here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 06:57:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lukioo/pseuds/lukioo
Summary: Cold, twitching fingers intertwined, the shallow sound of short breaths.  How romantic could this be, the feeling of death slowly creeping upon them, the promise of flowers in where they lay.Soon to be dead in this wonderful place, the scent of the earth and the blood all mixed in, the chirping of birds as they slowly awake and come from their hiding place. The snapping of twigs as the doe and her fawn go down the stream.How romantic, indeed.





	after the foxes have known our taste.

**Author's Note:**

> please go listen to this song I’m begging you please

I_ have never known peace_

_Like the damp grass that yields to me_  
_I have never known hunger_  
_Like these insects that feast on me_

_A thousand teeth_  
_And yours among them, I know_  
_Our hungers appeased_

——

The sweet scent of blood and grass, flooding their mouths. It was soft and smooth like black velvet, like the cloth hanging on a familiar man’s waist. 

A harsh sting like whiskey in the back of a sinner’s throat as he’d think of the velvety cloth, on a figure such as his. 

Teeth digging into the arms that held each other; what a comforting bite. The bite of a man with the face of a wolf, hunger and lust illuminating his eyes. How full of hate and anger those young eyes contained.

How gentle were the eyes of a lover, dark and so different from the wolves who tore at them. How warm and calm, even as the cries of animals rose around them, they were spilling with pure, innocent love. 

The eyes a mother would have for her child as she rubbed away the dirt and tears from their faces and kissed their bruised cheeks.

The eyes an artist could never capture, something you could see in the soul the same way you could see the music coming from the instrument so cherished by a dear friend. 

The wolves tore and tore and tore, taking everything and leaving gaping holes through their bodies. They looked so familiar. Wolves with scars and longer, bloodied fur, wolves with teeth sharper than others, or with darker pelts and heavier paws.

They felt like family. 

Traitors

Lovers

Fighters

Family

All of them; family. 

——

_Our heartbeats becoming slow_

_We lay here for years or for hours_  
_Thrown here or found_  
_To freeze or to thaw_  
_So long we become the flowers_  
_Two corpses we were_  
_Two corpses I saw_

——

Cold, twitching fingers intertwined, the shallow sound of short breaths. How romantic could this be, the feeling of death slowly creeping upon them, the promise of flowers in where they lay. 

Soon to be dead in this wonderful place, the scent of the earth and the blood all mixed in, the chirping of birds as they slowly awake. The snapping of twigs as the doe and her fawn go down the stream.

The young foxes sniffing at the bodies that lay in the ferns and the lavender, biting at necks and legs and arms, pulling for meat. 

How romantic and bittersweet it was to have death crawl upon you as you lie by your lover.

How romantic, indeed.

——

_And they'd find us in a week_  
_When the weather gets hot_  
_After the insects have made their claim_  
_I'd be home with you_  
_I'd be home with you_

_I have never known sleep_  
_Like the slumber that creeps to me_  
_I have never known color_  
_Like this morning reveals to me_

_And you haven't moved an inch_  
_Such that I would not know_  
_If you sleep always like this_  
_The flesh calmly going cold_

——

Pale lips and cold fingers, bugs crawling throughout the slowly decaying and half eaten bodies. They scuttled around, biting at the flesh and eating their fill. 

The slumber clinging tightly onto the lovers, kissing them both with the sweet embrace. 

Oh how sweet and luxurious it had tasted in the mouth of a liar, who could never reach the other side. It tasted of sweet cream and vanilla essence; like the women who cost too much, but he always paid. 

It tasted like the lips of a forbidden lover; cinnamon and smoke and everything perfect in the world. 

The taste of memories, nights when they should’ve been hunting, spent with rough sex and needy, lust-filled kisses. It tasted like the sound of his moans; deep and arousing, adding to the pool of warmth in the other’s stomach.

The feeling of rest as the final words were spoken,

This is where it ends.

——

_They'd find us in a week_  
_When the cattle shows fear_  
_And they'd find us in a week_  
_When the buzzards get loud_  
_After the insects have made their claim_  
_After the foxes have known our taste_  
_After the raven has had its say_  
_I’d be home with you_  
_I’d be home with you_

——

And when someone should stumble upon these two corpses in the forest, torn and decayed by the foxes, and wolves, and buzzards and such, with flowers growing in them and bugs scuttling around, the deer shall creep out of their hiding place and watch over them.

They are home. 


End file.
